Turning on the ac

The heaviness of the hot airsits on my lap,Drops of sweat dot my face and neck My clothes turn transparent, My heart works harder. My head begs me to do something, anything.I reach for the answer. My sticky fingers leave evidence of the act,
wet fingerprints. The room burns like an open oven,
but I force myself to fight it and wait. The coolness rushes inand I'm overcome with joy and silliness. I could stay like this forever.